Disclaimer: I own nothing from Harry Potter. That is all the wonderful work of J.K. Rowling, all I'm doing is taking some of her characters in a new direction.

A/N: This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, so please be nice. If this is a little similar to any of the other Hermione/Tom fics then I apologize. I just had this idea in my head and I couldn't get it out, but it was definitely influenced by the countless number of amazing fanfics about Tomione that I've read. This is a time travel fic, but don't expect Hermione to head back right away. Tom will definitely be mentioned quite a bit before she goes back in time, but I want you all to understand some of her motivations. I'm sorry if you think I'm writing Hermione as OOC, but this is how I interpret her as I rewatch the movies and reread all the books. She is extremely strong, intelligent, and passionate and from the way the girl studies you know that she's pretty obsessive. I promise all of my author's notes won't be this long, but this is the first one so I thought I might clear up any questions you have. The prologue will be considerably shorter than any of the other chapters, but it was that idea which got me started down this rabbit hole. Thank you all for reading! Please let me know what you think and what you might want to see!

Prologue

Hermione Granger's limp form laid mangled beneath the elm tree. Her uncontrollable curls were drowned into submission by a combination of rain, mud, and her blood. The gaping hole atop her head was submerged in the mud. Hermione thought it was ironic that she spent so many years fighting that awful slur just to die when she brought it to life.

Hermione should have been screaming in agony, pleading for her life, or attempting to find a way out of this all, but she wasn't. All Hermione could do was think of how cold it must be. The rich color in her skin had faded away, goosebumps covered her arms, and she heard the wind howling as the storm raged on. It must have been freezing out, but she couldn't feel it. She couldn't feel anything anymore.

Her body should have ached instead, it was numb. From what she could see there were blooming bruises covering her thighs and her ankles, blood was trickling down her thighs into the dark puddle below, and she had at least three bones which were visibly broken. She closed her eyes when she realized she could see her arm, having no desire to stare at the hideous scar mocking her as she died.

"Maybe Bellatrix won after all," she thought because even when she closed her eyes all she could see was her left arm drained of all color except for the puffy, red letters which still shone as brightly as the day they were carved into her skin.

Hermione Granger was broken.

She didn't notice the way her body shook from the crucios she had been subjected to. She couldn't see the series of inch wide slices on her abdomen which was the source of most of the blood seeping into the mud puddle beneath her. She didn't know the bruises covering her thighs paled in comparison to the ones on her speckling her head and neck. She couldn't even taste the copper blend which filled her mouth that was a stunning mix of blood from her broken nose, her split lip, and her tongue which she had nearly bitten off during the last round of torture was now hanging on by a paper-thin stretch of muscle.

All she wanted was to die, but Hermione could never get what she wanted.